The 10 Dishes That Made My Career: Miles Thompson of Allumette

Like most 25-year-olds working in L.A.’s hospitality industry, Miles Thompson arrived in town with big, Hollywood-shaped dreams. “I’d had some [acting] success as a kid, so I thought I’d move here to give it a final shot,” he says of a short-lived career that included a role in the offbeat romcom Me and You and Everyone We Know, and a small part in TV show Third Watch. Quickly dispirited by “living alone, auditioning for toothpaste commercials, and waiting for the phone to ring,” the New York native cast aside his silver-screen aspirations and promptly reinvented himself as one of the city’s most promising young chefs.

Currently heading up the kitchen at Echo Park’s Allumette, Thompson is turning out complex, thoughtful dishes that belie both his tender age and diminutive appearance. His tenacity hasn’t gone unnoticed: He was recently honored as one of Zagat’s 30 most exciting young culinary talents in the Los Angeles area, and LA Weekly’s restaurant critic Besha Rodell described his food as a “taste of the future.”

Not bad for a chef with no formal training, who learnt his earliest culinary lessons by watching Jamie Oliver and Mario Batali on public access TV. “Back then, [cooking shows] were for people who were really interested in food,” Thompson says. “They taught you about dimensions, and layers of seasoning, and why and how you do things… It wasn’t just about making TV stars.”

The food here at Allumette is very alive. It’s very musical; it’s improvisational.

After six years working for a catering company in South Salem, NY, Thompson’s skills were finessed under the tutelage of Adam Becker (his mentor and first boss at the LA outpost of Nobu), and later during his time at Fairfax Avenue’s meat-centric restaurant, Animal, where chef-owners Vinny Dotolo and Jon Shook introduced him to a fearless, subversive style of cooking that has informed his own approach.

“I think I’ve been really lucky to have worked in restaurants where creative freedom has been perpetuated,” he reflects. “Jon and Vinny really broke the mold with Animal; serving this pork-heavy menu in the middle of a Jewish neighborhood… No sign [over the door], no modifications, No apologies.” He sees Animal as the restaurant that paved the way for Los Angeles’ current dining renaissance. “I don’t know how much delicious, in-your-face, impactful food existed [in L.A.] before that.”

Since April of this year, Thompson has been turning out boldly flavored, hyper-seasonal dishes from his own kitchen on L.A.’s edgy eastside. As a former music student and actor, Thompson’s artistic sensibilities come across in every beautifully plated dish. “The food here at Allumette is very alive. It’s very musical; it’s improvisational,” he says of a tasting menu that features dishes such as branzino with shellfish tapioca, and cavatelli with uni ragu. “We’re striving to make something really special and unique and delicious, and interesting,” he adds. “But delicious first and foremost.”

Read about the ten dishes that shaped Miles Thompson’s career, from Thai pork jerky with ‘the best dipping sauce in the world’, to the truffled scrambled eggs that brought him to tears.

Mom’s Brisket

My mom is Jewish, and we would always have brisket for Passover. The fatty side of the brisket was seared, seasoned with canola oil and salt, and braised in Lipton’s Onion Soup Mix with lima beans and potatoes. Then it was cooled and sliced; a really simple, very brown dish. But brisket fat is the most delicious thing, and braising it in onion soup makes the fat taste like onion soup—even better. When your mom spends two days making something, you can just taste that love and attention to detail—it always had to be this cut and this specific brand of soup mix. The results were just delicious.

Mom’s Matzo Ball Soup

My mom would make a stock or broth with a whole chicken by cooking it with carrots and onions and celery. Then she’d take the chicken out and shred the meat, take the fat off the stock, mix club soda into the actual matzo balls to lighten them—the carbon dioxide makes a puff. I can’t do it. She’s written out the recipe; I’ve made it with her. But if she doesn’t actually touch the matzo balls, then it’s not the same. It’s some crazy magic that she adds to it.
She never seasoned [the soup], so we’d always add salt and pepper ourselves. It was interesting, because you get to see the progression of the flavors. I take it as a lesson in seasoning, and in care and attention to detail.

Shio Ramen at Santouka Ramen (Los Angeles)

When I worked at Nobu, I used to go in from 9:30am to close, even though my shift started at 2:30pm. Initially, it was because I needed the extra time, and then eventually it was just because I wanted to learn. I used to do projects with the chefs, get my station ready to go, and then spend the rest of the time playing around. On my days off, I’d go to Santouka, this little Japanese market in a food court where the shio ramen was just always the same. The noodles were always cooked perfectly, and they were always served with the flavored egg and pork cheek—it was such comfort food. I used to sit there and never feel rushed… That market is so bright and Hello Kitty-ish, but when I look back it seems like a little slice of calm and heaven.

Rik LeRoy’s Pho

Rik is a line cook I worked with at Nobu. I remember going into work one day and he had made pho for family meal. I was like, “Oh, cool,” thinking this was going to be some ‘nice attempt’… I mean, he’s a great cook, but he’s also tall and lanky and covered in tattoos—he actually has one of his own face screaming on his chef—so I wasn’t hopeful. But then I ate it and it was literally the best pho I’ve ever had in my life. He actually worked in a Vietnamese restaurant for two years, but I didn't know that until I tried the pho. I begged him for the recipe for the rest of the time that we worked together and when I handed in my notice, he gave it to me. I’ve based several dishes on that broth since.

Pork Jerky at Ruen Pair (Los Angeles)

Nowadays, I eat a lot of Thai food on my days off. This dish at Ruen Pair in L.A.’s Thai Town is the best example of pork jerky that I’ve ever had. The strips are a little bit thicker than a pencil, they’re fried, and they come with a dipping sauce that is the best dipping sauce that exists in the world. It’s sour and tart and a little spicy; it has a little fermented funk. It’s just really simple and really good.
One of the chefs that I really look up to is Grant Achatz [of Chicago’s Alinea], and he says that the salt/sugar/acid balance on that dish is as complex as any dish he might make. It’s not nearly as complex on the plate as, say, ham and peas with tofu and lavender air, but it’s just as complex in your mouth.

We have a variation of this on the menu of Allumette right now. My mom would make it any time there was an event, whether it was a birthday or the holidays, and it’s the most dense, over-the-top, rich cheesecake for a 100-pound woman to make. It’s like a brick with this big sour cream topping and a dense walnut-and-graham-cracker crust underneath. It was baked rather than cooked in a water bath, so it was not light and airy at all. But it was one of six things that she made really well, and it’s so vivid in my mind. It had a salt-sweet balance that I appreciate in a dessert; it wasn’t just over-the-top, diabetes-sweet.

Grilled Japanese Mackerel with Avocado Purée and Poached Matsutake Mushrooms at Per Se (New York, NY)

Before my fiancé and I were engaged, we went to New York to celebrate our first anniversary. We’d tried to get a table at Per Se six weeks in advance, but they were fully booked. And then we landed, my parents picked us up, and while we were in the car I got a call saying that they had a table and did we want to take it? Of course, I was like, “Absolutely.”
So we had dinner at Per Se and it was just really, really special. All the food is perfect there, but the one thing I really value in food is emotion. All the dishes were beautifully executed, but this one had a punk-rock edge to it. It was grilled mackerel, cooked over charcoal, with these tiny little mushrooms and all these microgreens—perfect little heads of lettuce, the size of a pencil eraser. It was just astounding.

Poached and Fried Veal Brains Served with Apple Sauce, Vadouvan, and Carrots at Animal (Los Angeles)

That dish was special for me because it’s the first time that I ever ate veal brains. More than that, it was a dish that I used to make when I was cooking on the line at Animal. The veal brains kept going up and I kept putting making them, and Vinny [Dotolo] would always say, “They’re fine, they’re fine.” But at one point he was like, “They’re fine, but that’s not okay.” This was in the middle of the busy service, but he came over and started making them with me and he was like: “You’ve just gotta love it. If you get an order, you need to have everything else on lockdown so you can just pay attention to this dish. It’s delicate: if you overcook it, it’ll be gross. If you undercook it, it’ll be like…jiggly brain.” I just remember him making the whole thing and I looked at him and thought, 'Yeah, that’s why you’re the chef.’

That was the second time I’d ever eaten Swordfin squid—the first time was at [L.A. seafood restaurant] Providence. I went to Red Medicine on my birthday. All my friends were out of town, so I figured that rather than sitting at home feeling depressed, I’d treat myself for dinner.
I ordered this squid, which came with a bunch of very interesting ingredients. The squid was scored in this really beautiful way and it came all curled up in little corkscrews. The plate was just stunning looking, and then I ate it was just an unbelievable combination of flavors. It really blew my mind. The functionality of the plating—this artistic arrangement, and this stripe of elderflower syrup down the plate that you could dip or drag the other components through. There were no decisions made for you on the plate, which I thought was amazing.

I cried when I ate that dish. It was basically scrambled eggs that had been barely set; they were really, really soft, and they wede finished with Spanish olive oil, and then a big load of white truffles on top. Obviously, it’s not going to be bad, but it was just perfect in such a familiar way.
When I was growing up, I’d eat a lot of oatmeal with my mom and my sister, with whom I have a very close connection, and this dish was a similar experience in terms of both the temperature and the texture. The timing was important here, too; at the stage when I ate these eggs I was just so emotionally open and ready to learn about food, and I found this dish so thoughtful. Not every plate has to have 8,000 components; when you get beautiful ingredients you can just let them shine. This was a lesson in balance and restraint.

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